


Just Another Name in the Paper

by Mostly_Angst_Whoops



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, Thanks @ my friend for helping me correct one of the facts, Tw for blood and gory talk, alexander likes serial killers, john’s a med student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 07:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13336203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mostly_Angst_Whoops/pseuds/Mostly_Angst_Whoops
Summary: For the prompt "You come into my restaurant every day, and you leave me little notes with your tips and they’re just ridiculous little facts and anecdotes and I think I might be falling in love."





	Just Another Name in the Paper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lesty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesty/gifts).



> For Lesty, who’s honestly absolutely amazing. You’re such a considerate and intelligent person okay thanks for all the motivation you give

John absolutely hated his job. Being a waiter was one of the greatest missteps in his soon-to-be existent career. He needed money for med school, and this was one of the only jobs that was open. At least the hard part was over. He’d already said “fuck you, I don’t want to be a lawyer,” and this is what resulted. He was on his own, but at least he could do was he wanted with his life. “By the way, I’m also gay as fuck” had sealed the fate.

That’s all in the past anyway. Now he had to deal with people, and people sort of sucked. He didn’t really have friends at the restaurant, never cared enough to memorize the faces of the regulars. He just stuffed more and more tips into his pocket, hoping that it would somehow get to at least a hundred thousand. Whatever. He was working up. Had just passed three hundred. He should get something for that, right?

He leaned down, wiping the rest of the current table he was on. Alongside the tip was a post it note. John shoved the money into his pocket first. That was important to him. His eyes then moved along the messy writing on the post it. It seemed to be done in a hurry, the blue pen ink standing out against the light yellow colored post it. 

_George Washington died because he was sick, and his doctors let out too much blood._

John stared at it quizzically, before looking up at the retreating figure of the person who had left the message. Dark brown shoulder length hair, kind of short. He ran after the patron, stopping right behind him.

“Uh, excuse me, sir,” John said. 

The man turned around, and John was struck by beauty. His eyes were brown and seemed to have an entire other world in them, framed by thick black eyelashes. There was a small smirk on his lips. It seemed kind of a weird thing for John to notice, but the man’s skin kind of glowed, like a vampire in a movie. John remembered the reason he was gay.

“Yes?” the man asked.

It took John a second to snap back to reality. He held up the post-it. “I think you left this.”

The man nodded. “I left it for you,” he said. “Thought it was kinda cool.”

John nodded, looking at it again. “I suppose it is. Kinda cool, I mean. Weird, kind of morbid, but cool.”

The man nodded. “Alright. Hope that brought some interest to your day.” He turned, walking out again. John stuffed the post-it note into his pocket along with his money. 

John didn’t remember the faces of the people in the restaurant often, but he had a feeling he’d remember that face, at least. He went back to work, cleaning tables again.

***

A few days passed. He was back to serving tables, not paying attention to who was at each table, just copying down orders and bringing out food.

“Welcome to the Yorktown Diner, I’m John-”

“Nice to see you again, too,” the man said. 

John looked up, locking eyes with him. It was sticky note guy. He was buried into a book, several post-it notes scattered throughout it. John smiled a bit. “Never caught your name.”

“Alexander,” the man said. “Hamilton.”

“Pleased to meet you, Alexander. I’m John Laurens. May I get you anything to drink?”

“Sprite.”

John served a few more tables before heading back with some Sprite for Alexander. Alexander’s face was in a book, his eyes devouring the words on the page. There was a bad of bright green sticky notes right next to him, and every now and then, he’d scribble something down on one of them and stick it into the book. Alexander seemed completely absorbed, not even noticing John at first. John watched intently, before clearing his throat.

Alexander looked up, and John set the Sprite on the table, reaching for the little pad of paper he wrote orders on. “Have you decided yet?”

Alexander looked down at the menu, that still hadn’t looked like it had been touched. “I’m having trouble, what would you recommend?”

“We make good macaroni and cheese,” John said, shrugging. “I steal it from the back whatever chance I get. I’m not a food critic, though. Don’t trust my opinion.”

“I don’t trust food critics,” Alexander said. “If you’re so uninterested, what are you doing here?”

John scoffed. How out of it was this loser? “It’s a job, I’m here for money.”

Alexander chuckled. “There are some waiters who want to own restaurants, still others like hearing stories from their customers. You hate the job. Is the money really worth it if you could do something you love instead? You’re well off if you live here.”

John certainly hadn’t expected to have a deep conversation with someone that he barely even knew. He looked at Alexander, who was gazing into his eyes intently. It felt… violating. John looked away, shrugging. “I’m using the money to pay for something I love. I need it for med school.”

Alexander smiled, closing the book and tilting it towards John, so that he could read the cover. _An Anatomical and Physiological Exploration of the Human Heart._

“I’m no med student, I’m just doing some casual reading,” Alexander said, going back to the book.

John nodded, watching Alexander jot down another note. “You never ordered.”

“Macaroni and cheese, then,” Alexander said.

John nodded, running off to the back to get Alexander's macaroni and cheese. He watched from the counter as he served, expecting something more to happen. It was weird. He ended up bringing out the macaroni and cheese, setting it down in front of Alexander. 

Alexander barely acknowledged it, but soon got to munching. John continued waiting on tables, waiting for something else from Alexander. Eventually, Alexander called for the check. He paid with his card as he did before, before pulling few more dollars out of his pocket, setting them on the table, along with one of the green post it notes.

John brought back his card, and this time Alexander waved on the way out. John picked up the sticky note. _There are about 1.2-1.5 gallons of blood in an adult human body._

He smiled softly, sticking the post-it note into his pocket along with the tip. 

***

For John, some days were better than others. There were some days that he just wanted to curl up in a ball on the floor and do absolutely nothing. This was one of those days. He supposed everyone had them, anyway. With any luck, people would stay away from him. 

He trudged to work, slipping on an apron. It was the closest thing they had to a uniform. He tied the back, slipping the notepad into one of the apron pockets. It seemed everyone was in a dreary mood today, as well. Nobody said much more than their orders. Everyone seemed to be hunched over slightly, scrolling down their phones to avoid eye contact with the people around them.

It was rare to have quiet days in the restaurant, but John loved them when they did happen. The only sounds around him were soft murmurs and the pitter patter of rain on the window. He had his homework spread out in the back, and he let the scratch of his pencil join the calming sounds around him. 

“John!” Someone yelled.

John looked up at the intrusion, almost snapping his pencil. It had been so perfect until a second ago. Everyone was glaring at the interruption, none other than Alexander. John forced himself up, taking his notepad out. “You know where you are and you know who I am. May I take your order?”

Alexander shrugged. “Sparkling water.”

 _Pretentious,_ John thought, but it was mostly because he, like almost everyone else on a rainy day, seemed to be in a bad mood. All except Alexander. Instead of a book, this time he had a newspaper with him, and John could see his eyes flying across the words on the page. There was so much energy in them. _How_ was there so much energy in them? John was so tired. 

John returned with sparkling water. “You’re chipper today.”

Alexander shrugged. “Everyone’s chipper now and then, don’t you think?”

“There’s usually a reason.”

“Work’s just going well,” Alexander answered.

“What’s your work?”

Alexander set down the newspaper to explain, grinning. “I got onto the front page.”

John looked over at the newspaper, his eyes scanning over the page. The name on the byline was _Publius,_ which was pretty obviously a pen name. Alexander was a reporter, then. “Covering the murders?”

Alexander chuckled. “Basically. The killer bleeds out their victims.”

“Was that what the heart book was for? And that last post-it note?”

Alexander grinned, nodding. “Research is important.”

John chuckled. “Alright, then. That makes you significantly less creepy. May I take your order?”

“I’ll have whatever you choose, Mr. Not-A-Food-Critic.”

John laughed softly, the sound breaking through the mellow atmosphere. It was slightly brightening. “French toast alright?”

“Yup,” Alexander said. 

Sparkling water and french toast. Truly the best of combinations. John added the order to the notepad, pinning it up with the rest of the order slips. He returned a little later, dividing his time between his homework and the people he was serving, putting tips into his pocket everywhere he went. This was just the first step in achieving greatness, it’d be a great story for a biography. John was going to be so much more, he could already feel it in his soul.

For now, he was handing French toast to a front page reporter. Good enough. He set the smooth dishes down, a plate for the toast, and a tiny cup for the syrup. “Need anything else?” 

“Nope, I’m good,” Alexander hummed, smiling. “Actually, I’d like your number.”

John blushed softly. “What?”

“You’re cute,” Alexander hummed. “I’ll just add mine to this post-it note and leave it here for you, yeah?”

“Sounds… good,” John said.

“Alright! I’m going to eat my French toast now,” Alexander hummed, beginning to dip the pieces into the syrup.

John nodded, moving onto the next table. Business as usual, except there was a little bounce in his step this time. He returned to Alexander’s table after he had left. Alexander had left the newspaper with his tip, as well as the post it note. _Our body contains gold, most of which is in our blood,_ followed by a string of digits that were almost immediately transferred to John’s phone. He stuffed the sticky note into his pocket along with the money. 

***

Alexander walked back into the restaurant two days later, another book in his hands. He sat down at the usual table, and John sauntered over to take his order. 

The phone number had led to a whole lot of nothing. A “hey” and a “what’s up” and a “work.” Nothing more. Alexander seemed a little obsessed with his work, if John was being honest.

“Saw you made the front page again. Still covering the murders,” John hummed, grinning. “Your order?”

“Next most childish thing on the menu, please,” Alexander said, propping open his book. 

John laughed softly. “Guess that’s chicken nuggets. They’re coming right up.”

“And Sprite please!” Alexander called, beginning to read again. 

John wrote down the added order before pinning it up as usual, going through his usual routine of scratching in his homework as he ran around the restaurant. The owner liked him too much to fire him, anyway. 

John eventually reached Alexander’s table, setting down his food. 

“Ah, thank you,” Alexander said, taking a sip of the Sprite. “I’m on a caffeine detox, apparently my caffeine intake has been dehydrating my skin or whatever, and I look old.”

“You look fine,” John said, chuckling. 

“Well, new skincare routine,” Alexander said, smiling up at John. He reached for a chicken nugget, beginning to eat. 

“What book are you reading?” John asked. 

Alexander closed it. “It’s about famous serial killers.”

“More research for your writing, I’m guessing. You should just read it around people and watch them run away,” John said, laughing. “Is my fact going to be about a serial killer today?”

Alexander nodded, scribbling down something on a post-it and handing it to John. 

_Elizabeth Bathory didn’t actually bathe in virgin’s blood. It was a single testimony and there’s little proof to support it._

“Elizabeth Bathory?” John asked, looking at the post-it. 

“Greatest female serial killer in history?” Alexander asked. 

John shook his head. 

“Ah, sit down, innocent one,” Alexander said, gesturing to the seat opposite him. 

John laughed and sat down, rolling his eyes. “Innocent one?”

“No offense, but you’d probably be one of the virgins’ blood that she supposedly bathed in,” Alexander said, chuckling. “Elizabeth Bathory was a Countess that captured and tortured servants, doing things like branding them, or inserting needles under their fingernails, forced them to eat their own flesh,” he listed, taking a bite of his chicken nugget. 

“How the fuck are you eating while talking about this?” John asked. 

“I brought a book on serial killers to a diner,” Alexander said, chuckling. “Want me to continue?”

“Skip the tortures, get to the point,” John said. 

“Right. Anyway, a few centuries later, someone came up with the story that she bled virgins out and bathed in their blood,” Alexander said. “She’s nicknamed the blood countess, and that’s how most people in know her. It’s an incorrect story.”

“Oh,” John said. “That’s disgusting.”

“Who knows? It might do wonders for your skin,” Alexander joked, smiling. 

“Ew,” John replied. “Gotta go wait on more tables. I’ll be back soon.”

He got up and ran to serve a few more people, writing a few more words onto his homework, before heading back to Alexander’s table once Alexander was finished. “Need anything else?”

“No, I think I’m good,” Alexander said. “How about a date?”

John blushed slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’d be nice. We can hang out at the park or something.”

“Sounds awesome,” John said, grinning.

“Cool. I’ll text you. We can meet up.”

John nodded, picking up his tip as usual. “I’ll see you soon, Alexander.”

“Call me Alex.”

***

John texted Alexander one of the weekends, and they decided a place at the park to meet up. John never really expected to find a boyfriend, it seemed nearly impossible. Exhibit A: John’s entire personality. Awkward, gay, and depressed med student wasn’t particularly attractive, which meant he needed to nail this date.

John spent extra time picking out his outfit, slipping it on. Too much for a park date? Maybe. Too much for his first first date? No way. He checked himself over a final time before starting the walk to the park, skipping a little now and then whenever he couldn’t hold in the excitement. 

Alexander was already waited at the bench that they were going to meet at. He just had a t-shirt and jeans on, and John realized that he was horribly overdressed. The feeling melted away as Alexander looked at him and grinned, and John found that he cared a little more about the smile than everything else. 

He sat down next to Alexander.

“I’m afraid you’ve shown me up,” Alexander said, chuckling. “You look nice.”

John blushed. “Thanks,” he said. “Uh, you look pretty nice too.”

“I look like I’m in pajamas. Apologies,” Alexander said. He took another look at John’s outfit.

“First first date,” John explained, blushing a little more. 

Alexander nodded, smiling. “You’re cute,” he hummed. “Want to go to my place instead? Netflix and pizza. No chilling, if you know what I mean.”

John blushed even harder. The truth was that he wasn’t that comfortable out in public like this, and Netflix sounded a hell of a lot less awkward. That’s how dates worked, right? John nodded. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Cool,” Alexander said. “It’s a short walk.”

John slipped his hand into Alexander’s, walking home with him.

***

James Madison- or Publius- was a simple person. At least, that’s how he liked to appear on the outside. It scared most people off, but he didn’t mind. He rather liked the fact that it scared most people off. There was no reason he should have to deal with people. 

It’s weird that he became a reporter, for that specific reason. 

Still, most people won’t pester you if you write under a pen name, and he had a way of getting the truth out of people, which was a plus. Exposés were always his favorite to publish. 

Then his boss went and gave him the job of reporting murders. James preferred investigative journalism, his own work. Not a lot of police officers telling him what he can and can’t publish. That was annoying. 

James took down notes as the officer in front of him kept talking. It was the same MO as all the other victims, a blood drained corpse. Where the blood was going was a mystery. Whatever sick bastard had done it seemed to have an obsession with blood. 

The victim- a John Laurens was a waiter at a diner. Med student. It was kind of sad, actually.

Now he was just another name in the paper.

**Author's Note:**

> Get it?? Alex made the front page ayyyy  
> Cause he was the murderer, not the writer  
> Fuck yeah
> 
> Written for the unofficial turning fluff prompts into angst fic exchange
> 
> (I know I was supposed to make this angsty but I hope you enjoyed the horror) 
> 
> Comments help me make it through the day! Yell at me on tumblr @hamilton-angst


End file.
